Chapter 3: The Mapo Tofu That Came Too Fast
They say eating delicious food makes you feel good.
An obvious statement, if you think about it.
Clothing, food, and shelter—the three essentials for human survival, and food sits right in the middle.
No need to explain further; it’d just hurt my mouth.
‘Huh…? Something feels off…’
Wait, is it?
Clothing, food, alcohol.
Clothes, food, booze—right?
No, that’s not it, is it?
Trying to sort out my jumbled thoughts, I fiddled with my phone.
I opened a delivery app, one that’s always popping up in TV ads.
Ordering in isn’t my favorite since delivery fees are so steep, but…
“Man… this is driving me nuts.”
The reflection in the mirror was undeniably that of a young girl.
Looking like this, I couldn’t go to a restaurant or even a convenience store.
It’s not just that I look like a kid—what really matters is that this kid is wearing nothing but an oversized shirt, no underwear.
Delivery’s my only option, like it or not.
I can’t just not eat.
“Five thousand won for delivery? Five thousand?
Are they insane? Charging five grand just to bring some food?
The delivery fee’s bigger than the meal itself!”
This is why I hate delivery.
The food costs 7,000 won, but the delivery fee is 5,000.
A delivery fee that’s almost as much as the food—does that even make sense?
Sighing, I hit the back button.
Other places were about the same.
I put the phone down and let out another sigh.
Propping my chin up, staring at the fridge, wondering why there’s nothing to eat, my eyes caught a flyer stuck to the fridge door.
‘Was there a place like this…?’
I don’t often order takeout or buy premade food.
Unless I’m swamped with deadlines, I’d rather cook, even if it’s a hassle.
So why’s there a flyer like this?
Did I stick it up during a hectic deadline and forget?
My head spun with questions piling on top of each other, but my body moved toward the flyer as if drawn to it.
“Hongju Yeonseguan…”
The flyer, labeled “Taesan” at the top, listed standard Chinese dishes like jjampong and jjajangmyeon, alongside less common ones like menbosha, palboban, and kung pao chicken.
But what stood out most, right in the center with a photo, was “Mapo Tofu.”
“Mapo Tofu?”
The chef’s recommended dish or something?
But Mapo Tofu…
Even skipping the tedious prep, isn’t it just tofu and meat seasoned with doubanjiang and thickened with starch?
Like most dishes, unless it’s from a top-tier restaurant, Mapo Tofu tastes pretty much the same everywhere.
And they’re making it their signature dish?
“Well, I’ll find out when I try it.”
The place wasn’t on the delivery app, so ordering through it wasn’t an option.
Reluctantly, I dialed the number on the flyer.
Before pressing the call button, I hesitated, wondering if it was okay to order as a woman now.
But it’s a new place, and there’s no way the owner would know I was originally a man.
With that realization, I hit the call button without hesitation.
Ring, ring—
The dull, old-fashioned ringtone went on for a while without stopping.
Did I get the number wrong?
Just to be sure, I compared the number on the flyer to the one on my phone screen—no mistakes.
It wasn’t a wrong number, and it wasn’t a holiday when the place would be closed.
I naturally concluded the restaurant must be shut down.
Unable to wait any longer, I pulled the phone from my ear to hang up when—click—a voice came through.
[Hongju Yeonseguan Taesan!]
I let out a short “Ah,” caught off guard since I didn’t expect anyone to pick up.
The person on the other end let out a small “Oh” in response.
What a peculiar way of speaking—did the owner tell them to talk like this for some gimmick?
The owner’s one thing, but this girl going along with it is something else.
I cleared my throat, realizing the thought might’ve been rude if they’d heard it.
[Sorry for the delay! We’re swamped with delivery orders today, and the calls piled up!]
I’d only cleared my throat to speak, but they must’ve taken it as impatience because a hurried voice came through.
I like a woman’s voice, but getting apologies like this doesn’t sit right with me.
Scratching my head, I spoke up.
“The Mapo Tofu, the one in the center. That’s the main dish, right?”
[Yes! It’s the chef’s pride and joy! They say it’ll make you feel the true fires of hell!]
“Ah… alright, Mapo Tofu and…”
Fires of hell…
The dramatic name gave me pause, but how spicy could Mapo Tofu really be?
Probably less than Buldak noodles, so I brushed it off.
Still, eating just Mapo Tofu on an empty stomach might be rough, so I ordered some fried rice to go with it and hung up.
After ordering, two thoughts hit me.
One: ‘Can this small body handle all that food?’
Two: ‘The flyer doesn’t list the restaurant’s address—where is this place?’
Whether I can eat it all doesn’t matter much.
Leftovers can go in the fridge.
But the missing address is odd.
They took my order without a word when I gave my address, so the place must be nearby.
I’ve lived in this neighborhood for five years and never seen or heard of a place with this name.
You’d think I’d have seen a flyer or heard someone mention it at least once, but nothing…
“Ugh, whatever. I’ll eat first and think later.”
Maybe it’s hunger or lack of sleep, but my head wasn’t working right.
Or maybe it’s overload from too much happening at once.
Either way, it’s better than panicking and doing nothing like before, so I’ll just wait for the food without overthinking.
After placing the order, I lay on my bed, staring blankly.
I tried not to think, just lying there like a corpse.
If I started thinking, a flood of useless thoughts would pour out.
So I stayed there, dazed, for a while.
Ding-dong—
The familiar doorbell snapped me out of it, and I glanced toward the entryway.
Already?
Getting up, grabbing some cash, I couldn’t shake how suspiciously fast the delivery was.
When I reached the entryway, I checked the clock on the living room wall.
[6:20 PM]
I ordered at 6:00, so it took only 20 minutes.
What kind of magic gets delivery here that fast?
Could it be a package instead?
But I hadn’t ordered anything, and the last package I got arrived two weeks ago and is already in use.
It wouldn’t be the landlord either—no repairs needed, and I pay rent on time.
That leaves only the delivery…
“Sigh, whatever.”
Deciding to deal with it as it comes, I opened the door and locked eyes with a girl in a short-hemmed qipao, her hair in twin buns.
She looked young at a glance, about my height, with a lively face that could brighten anyone’s mood.
“The phone’s slow, but the delivery’s fast!”
Is she Chinese?
Her speech was slightly clumsy but had a unique flair.
Roughly translated, it meant they’re slow to answer calls but make up for it with quick delivery.
“How much?”
“Twelve thousand won!”
Cheap.
Cheaper than what was listed on the flyer.
Worried I’d misread it, I asked her to wait and checked the flyer in the living room.
[Mapo Tofu 8,000 won, Chinese Fried Rice 7,000 won]
It was correct—super cheap.
What should I do?
Deciding not to cheat my conscience over a small gain, I returned to the entryway, pulled 15,000 won from my wallet, and handed it over.
“Thanks! Here’s your change!”
“Huh? Oh, I think you got the price wrong.”
“Eh?”
“The flyer says it’s 15,000 won, not 12,000.”
The girl glanced at the flyer in my hand and let out a small “Ah.”
As expected, she’d gotten the price wrong.
Good thing I didn’t sell my integrity for a mere 3,000 won.
Smiling with satisfaction, I turned to head back inside when she grabbed my shirt.
“This is a flyer from over a year ago. We lowered our prices recently.”
“Huh?”
“Here’s the new flyer and your change! Enjoy your meal!”
Before I could react, she closed the door and left.
I lowered my hand, which had been hovering in the air.
In the corner of my vision, I spotted two flyers on the shoe rack.
Both were labeled “Hongju Yeonseguan Taesan.”
But the one the girl gave me had lower prices across the board.
“A flyer from over a year ago…?”
My head spun.
Was I dreaming?
The surreal feeling from the flyer gave me goosebumps.
I pressed my hand to my forehead.
“What the hell is going on…?”
My head ached.